


Under the Table

by caprisunkiri



Series: Oh Captain, My Captain (The Daichi-Centric Series) [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Sawamura Daichi, Exhibitionism, Foot Jobs, Light Sadism, M/M, Top Nishinoya Yuu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:27:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprisunkiri/pseuds/caprisunkiri
Summary: Nishinoya snickers into a palm while Daichi bears the brunt of the stares. “Noya stop moving your foot,” he growls under his breath, “People are watching.”“Oh, stop acting like they can see something. Don’t make a noise, and they’ll be none the wiser,” The libero winks. Daichi hates how hot it is.OR; When the couple go out to dinner, but Nishinoya's bored, and nothing's more entertaining than watching Daichi squirm in his seat.
Relationships: Nishinoya Yuu/Sawamura Daichi
Series: Oh Captain, My Captain (The Daichi-Centric Series) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034142
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	Under the Table

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is so short, it was written during finals week lol. Promise the next one will be extra long. <3
> 
> Here's your fucking filth.

“Yuu Nishinoya. _No.”_

The libero’s face stays stagnant, blank and aloof, and the back of Daichi’s head throbs in annoyance. It’s a nice restaurant—not a hole in the wall, but not fancy enough for a suit and tie—and their waitress is nice, and it’d be extremely embarrassing for her to catch his boyfriend’s socked foot massaging Daichi’s jean-covered cock. They’re protected from view, _technically;_ the white tablecloth covers them up to mid-shin, but that doesn’t mean they still won’t get caught.

And just like Nishinoya’s face, his foot doesn’t move. Instead of the slow and steady circular motions he’s been doing for the past five minutes, Yuu’s foot stops moving altogether, simply pressing a heavy weight into Daichi’s cock. And he hates the way his hips subtly roll into it.

“You don’t seem like you want to stop.” Nishinoya hums, chin resting precariously on the edge of his palm as he swirls around the glass of red wine in his free hand.

“This is our anniversary,” Daichi says, red-faced and growling, before yanking the glass of water off the table so fast it almost spills. He downs half of it to keep his body heatin check. “I’m not going to let you ruin it just ‘cause you're horny.”

“What? When have I ever ruined _anything_ from being horny,” Nishinoya acts aghast, placing a hand over his heart in shock that’s so fake Daichi can’t keep his eyes from rolling. His tiny boyfriend’s inner exhibitionist (or, outer, actually) is the bane of his existence.

“Um, I dunno, let’s count,” voice reeking of sarcasm with an undercurrent of panic and arousal, Daichi lifts a shaky hand to count the number of times Nishinoya has defiled him in public, “the amusement park, the museum, the damn _grocery store—“_

Daichi shivers when Nishinoya’s foot starts to pick up speed again. With a frustrated growl, he fists the table cloth and definitely does not grind into the pressure.

Nishinoya raises an eyebrow; Which Daichi _hates._ “Having fun?”

“Shut up,” Daichi bites back a moan, and the pressure on his cock gets heavier, precum barely beginning to dampen the denim towards his belt. He struggles to keep quiet, his tongue threatening to roll, and Nishinoya’s angle is so _fucking perfect_ that if he just _keeps it there,_ the noirette will be able to cum in two minutes flat.

And oh God, he thinks he might actually do it.

“Doing things in public gets you worked up, admit it,” Nishinoya quips, pissing Daichi the fuck off (as if he hasn’t done that much already). But Nishinoya’s insatiable, “You like being touched where anyone can see, don’t you?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Daichi denies, but he’s practically rocking against his lovely boyfriend’s foot now, debating if he should grab his ankle for a little extra pressure. “Shut up, _shut up,_ fuck _, fuck—“_

“Would you like a refill, sir?”

_Fuck._

“Actually, that’d be great, thanks!” Nishinoya’s foot disappears, and Daichi surprises a whine but stays silent as he watches the wine glass fill with blood-red wine **,** counting every second, every splash until Nishinoya’s glass hits the table and the waitress retracts the bottle. She offers him some; he shakes his head, not trusting his voice with anything at the moment.

By the time she walks away, Daichi’s seriously considering whipping his dick and out finishing right here and now.

“Shit,” he shudders, as Nishinoya’s foot wastes no time in resuming where they left off. “You are—I hate you.”

“And _you_ are enjoying this a little too much, don’t you think?” Daichi shoots him a nasty glare. Nishinoya snorts in amusement, “It’s hard to look all intimidating when your cheeks are that pink.”

Daichi knows his boyfriend is bluffing; the restaurant lighting is dim and brown sugary. He doesn’t even blush that often, even when flustered. Yet Daichi pats at his face anyway.

The noirette coughs into his fist when Nishinoya rolls the ball of his foot exceptionally hard. His thigh seizes involuntarily, banging his knee right into the fucking table. The glasses jump, but thankfully nothing shatters.

Nishinoya snickers into a palm while Daichi bears the brunt of the stares. Glass and silverware is rarely a quiet sound. “Noya stop moving your foot,” he growls under his breath, “People are _watching.”_

“Oh, stop acting like they can see something. Don’t make a noise, and they’ll be none the wiser,” The libero winks. 

Daichi’s really struggling to hold it all in now. The knot in his gut is tied tight and ready to snap, and one more solid yank to that cord, and he just might. Panting open-mouthed and heavy-chested **,** he rests his head in two shaky palms, running a hand through his semi-sticky hair before balancing his elbowson the edge of the table.“N-Noya, Noya, you gotta stop, or I’m gonna—“

“What, Daichi?” His boyfriend challenges, leaning intothe table with his arms crossed, “You’re going to cum? You’re gonna make a mess of yourself, in your pants, in _this restaurant,_ in front of all these people?”

The noirette shakes his head and swallows, but Nishinoya’s foot doesn’t stop. Not when Daichi’s practically _begging_ for him, not when his eyebrows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut, not when he muffles a moan into his hand or when his hips stutter. They only stop when Nishinoya is absolutely and positively sure Daichi’s made a proper mess in his jeans.

And he _hates_ how hot it is.

“Filet mignon with a side of avocado caprese salad,” A porcelain bowl clinks against the table, placed directly in front of him, “And the kids chicken fingers and fries. Would you boys like anything else?”

Daichi goes to shake his head. Nishinoya lifts his cloth napkin, “Actually, can we get another one of these?”

The waitress looks vaguely confused but fishes a spare out of her pocket anyway. The libero thanks her, and she leaves.

…And then the idiot throws the napkin in his face.

“Ow, the he—“

“To clean yourself,” Nishinoya points out, _literally,_ with a fork in hand and everything. Daichi refuses to accept that he’s eating chicken fingers with a fork and a knife.

“I fucking hate you,” the noirette flushes. For once.

“Oh, you love me,” Nishinoya winks. It irks Daichi that he thinks he may be right.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on Wattpad @caprisunkiri if you'd like! I don't cross-post ;)


End file.
